Logs:The Sharp Knife of a Short Life
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| RL Date: 4 November, 2012 |
| Who: B'sil, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: After the death. |
| Where: Various places |
| When: Day 28, Month 2, Turn 30 - ?? |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions |
| She looked the same, in death. She looked like she was sleeping. A little. If you looked at her in a certain way. If you ignored the way her chest no longer rose and fell with each breath. If you ignored the waxy pale of her face, the coldness of her hands. If you ignored the wound in the back of her head. He lifted one of those hands to his mouth all the same, kissing it. She wasn't in there anymore; he knew that. But the idea of... he didn't want to let go. He couldn't let go. She'd asked him, all those months ago, if he loved her. He no longer knew, now, whether he'd said yes because it seemed like the right thing to say, or because it was true. But it must have been true, whether he knew it or not, because now he was facing a lifetime without her and he... He couldn't. Io, come back. he thought at her lifeless body, laid out on the bed they'd so often shared. I'm sorry. I can't do this without you. Please. But she was gone. You could feel it - feel the way Ysavaeth's presence no longer filled the Weyr, pushing out her will onto them. It had been that way for so long now that K'del had forgotten it hadn't always been so. No Ysavaeth meant no Iolene. Her absence cut like a knife. But her body was still here. It still looked like her. It even smelled like her, a little, when he leaned down to kiss her cheek. It didn't feel like her. He bathed her himself - he refused to let the healers touch her. He told her how much he loved her with each wipe of his damp cloth, and with each tear that slid down his cheeks. We were supposed to get old together. Eventually, we were supposed to try again, try and have another baby. It was all going to work out. We were going to work it out. He knew he hadn't been the best partner to her, these last months. He knew things had been wrong since Ysavaeth had risen. He'd always thought they'd have time to sort things out. He'd been wrong. He dressed her in one of her dresses, one of the ones he'd liked best. She'd worn it when Ysavaeth and Cadejoth's clutch had hatched - the day she'd first told him that she was pregnant. It felt like a lifetime ago, now. Like two different people had had that conversation. He wasn't sure what to do with the body. The realisation hurt. How could they have spent so long together, for him not to know whether she'd want to be Between to be with Ysavaeth, or-- he wasn't even sure what the islander custom was. Sent out to sea? Sealed up in a cave? He suspected sea, but if he'd ever known the answer to that, it escaped him now. Iolene was dead. She'd never tell him the answer. Eventually, he carried her out to Cadejoth himself. The bronze was grey, huddled in the corner of his ledge like a shadow of himself. So still. Cadejoth was never still. "We'll take her. So that they can be together again," he said, his voice cracking and shaking with disuse. « I wouldn't want to go without you, » said Cadejoth. I know, said K'del. Dragons and their riders should never go without each other. Oh, Iolene. Iolene. Why did it have to end this way? They had to go Between three times before K'del could let go. « Where are you? » It was not the first call; Cadejoth was vaguely conscious of the fact that there had been others, others he'd been shutting out of his thoughts as he focused his attentions on his rider. Had he ever set this still before, for so long? It didn't matter. « Cadejoth. » « Here. What is it, Aristath? » It was time. K'del might not be ready, but Cadejoth knew it had to be so. They could not sit here forever. It was an hour later when the older bronze landed upon the beach beside them. In the turns since the islanders had left, the beach itself had changed only a little: subtle, minute changes that K'del was not privy to. The settlement, the garden? The same was not true there. Cadejoth was still greyed-out and quiet; even his tailtip was still. K'del sat on his forelimb, back resting upon green-bronze hide, staring out to sea. "K'del," said B'sil, quietly, as he approached them. The cold wet made his bones ache; the look of desolation on his Weyrleader's face made his heart ache. "You need to come home. The Weyr needs you." "No." "No?" K'del pointed to something on the beach, something bedraggled and wet. It took B'sil a few moments to recognise it: blue cords and black, that single thread of bronze. The intricate knots. "Take it, B'sil." "It's yours." "I don't want it. "K'del--" "Do I look like someone who can be the Weyrleader High Reaches needs right now, B'sil? Do I look like I can fix anything? But you can. End your career on a high note. Fix our Weyr, the one we both care about. Do it for me." B'sil was silent, watching K'del. He'd never seen the younger man cry, not even when things had been awful. He felt his heart sink; there was no getting around this. Then K'del spoke again. "Hraedhyth or Iesaryth will rise in the next turn or so, most likely. Perhaps even less. It won't be forever. Just take it." "Just take it and go." B'sil took it. "Find who did it, B'sil. Make the pay. Offer a reward. Anything. Just... make them pay." It bothered B'sil, to abandon the Weyr-- the former Weyrleader to that isolated, cold beach, with only his dragon for company. But what could he do? Order them home? They'd refuse. « Come back when you're ready, Cadejoth, » Aristath told the younger bronze. « Come back and help us. » Cadejoth had no reply. "When's Papa coming to get us?" Kasey was sulking. "Why did he leave?" Nikalas - younger, but often more astute - didn't have an answer to this one. It bothered him, deep down, that their father had left them so ashen-faced, without a word. And the grown-ups had been talking. He hadn't been able to hear them, but it was obvious that something was wrong. Something big. "He'll get us when he can, Kase. He'll come back." Grandma had told them it was a surprise vacation, and that they were going to stay here for a while, and have their grandparents all to themselves. Except for Uncle Brennan's kids. Even Kaiani, the youngest, was a turn older than the boys, though, and she thought they were dumb. At least, he supposed, they had each other. "Maybe my Mama will come and get us," announced Kasey, suddenly pleased with himself for thinking of the idea. His expression was smug; he often lorded it over Nik, that his mother was a Dragonrider, and Nik's wasn't. "Or maybe she'll just come and get me." "Papa will come. Grandma said he would. She said." "She also said," said Mira, walking into the little bedroom she'd set up for them, "that you should lay down and go to sleep. Your father will come back and pick you up when he's able. You know as well as I do that sometimes his job needs to come first. Sleep." But it took a long time for both boys to fall asleep. K'del often got caught up in work - they knew that. He was the Weyrleader. But this felt... different. K'del sat on the beach, and wondered what he was supposed to do know. Iolene was gone. He'd given up his knot. Nothing tied him to anything, anymore. For the first time since his seventeenth turnday, he had no responsibilities to anyone but himself and Cadejoth. His children, he supposed, but they were in good hands. Milani and Avey knew where they were, and if they wanted to fetch them, that would be easy enough. But who would want to bring children back to a Weyr that housed a murderer? The idea of going back filled K'del with dread. No, he thought to himself. I'll stay here a while longer. I don't have to go back. I don't have to do anything. Not anymore. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Mon, 05 Nov 2012 04:12:34 GMT.
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Oh, K'del. :(
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